The Stranger
by PuzzlingApples
Summary: She never thought she would be in this position again, but now this time was different. The barrel of Helena's gun wasn't placed there by her own hand


The venom in her eyes was different this time. It wasn't shrouded by a subconscious yearning to be found and stopped; there was no need to have the control be taken away from her. But still, you find yourself staring into dark caverns with hope still residing in yours.

The madness had returned, you don't know how or why but you can only assume, and hope, the culprit to be an artifact, hell bent on destroying a person's sanity. You recall a time when you were in a very similar situation, but this time is different; this time is a dark oblivion that you have no idea how to get out of. There is no threat to the safety of the world, no ancient trident being thrust into an unstable caldera. All that there is, is you, a pistol, and the woman who held your heart in her hands. Only this time, the muzzle of the gun hadn't been placed between your eyes by your own hand.

The madness had taken over so much more this time. It was overwhelming in its power and size and you had no idea it existed to this extreme, but you should have. You should've have known, seen it, because something like this has to be brewed. It has to fester and grow like a malignant tumor, taking over every expanse it can reach; slowly devouring deep inside just waiting for the catalyst to help its eruption.

Her body was rigid and stiff in her clothing; but her eyes, they had been completely replaced with those of a stranger. There was no trace of the charisma or that arrogantly charming smirk that rose all the way through her features to her beautiful eyes. There was no trace of the inventor whose eyes would light up with intrigue and curiosity at a proposed challenge of something new to figure out or swirl with untamable determination when an idea for a new gadget claimed her mind. There was no sign of the author who could create a detailed world of fantastical measures and have that intoxicating creativity be broadcasted to those privileged few through deep chocolate orbs. There was no sign of the genius whose gears were always working just beneath her pupils, whose intellect would sweep across her narrowed eyes in stubbornness during a conversation about theory and practice. There was no sign of the woman who despite all of the trial and tribulations of her time still managed to fight for her right as a great mind, as a person who wouldn't be bothered with stereotypical labels of what gender one should love, as the human being who sought nothing more than to help the world along in its course to become truly equal.

Her eyes were hollow; a shell of the person that existed but had been suffocated and drowned to the point that she didn't know the energy to crawl her way out those black holes, to reemerge with the grace that she always carried.

Her eyes showed no trace of the woman you had fallen in love with. The woman who blasted into your life like a rocket and pulled you towards herself with grappling cords that you willing attached to your beating heart, and at this moment you would give anything to see her again or least something as miniscule as a glimmer, a flash, a tell of her being.

The barrel of the gun was cool against the skin between your green eyes. It was barely pressed against you, but you could feel the sheen of the metal and the escape route of the bullet on your brow. The click of the safety pinged through your eardrums and the memory of years past danced in the back of your mind.

The need to talk her down, to pull her into your arms, kiss her and tell her "it's okay" nagged at your heart and played with it like a puppet master. However, the war that raged within you, to either run away from this terrifying stranger or dive into the asphyxiating depths and save the woman you loved prevented any action except stillness.

Then you saw it, the hesitation, the tremble of her index finger that caressed the trigger, the glimmer of that creatively charming, inventive genius.

You had followed her out here into the light of the forest; a forest that reminded you too clearly of the time when she was too noble, when the price was too high, when she was willing to sacrifice herself to save you and the others. You had sensed that something was wrong when she disappeared from your shared bedroom at the break of dawn and your instincts had carried you here, but they were not prepared for the sight you stumbled upon.

As soon as your presence was known, the gun was on you and you had ceased every movement under the glare of this ominous stranger that was invading and controlling the body and mind of the woman you knew better than anyone else.

Only a few beats of time had elapsed between that moment and where you find yourself now. And with the glimmer of hope beyond the madness the war stopped in your mind, because you would rather suffocate yourself in trying to save her then let her self-destruct like this.

"You don't have to do this." you whisper, your loving green eyes locked with the onyx steel of hers.

"Leave. Now." her accent was strong with the resolve of the stranger, hard with the venom that accompanied those hollow eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere," you take a step closer, pressing the barrel fully into your forehead, "I'm not losing you again. I don't know what happened to you, but I do know that this isn't who you are. You're in there somewhere; we both know it, because if you weren't you would've pulled the trigger already."

Her grip tightened around the pistol, white knuckles turning pink from the flesh stretched so thin it looked like it would break open at any moment. "I don't want to hurt you anymore; I don't want to hurt anyone anymore."

You are at arm's length to her and you can see the vein in her neck pulsing rapidly and her entire body vibrating against the strain of locking muscles.

"Then put the gun down and we can work through it is. _Together_. Please, put it down." Your words are reassuring, soft, and soothing. You know she's in there somewhere and with every moment in time that passes you can see her clawing her way to the surface, one inch at a time.

"It's too much," her usually smooth voice cracks at the words and she shakes her head, "It's all too much. This madness I-I can't control it anymore. It's escaped and I don't know how to put it back."

The sting of unshed tears building up behind your lids irritate your eyes as you watch similar ones fall in glistening streaks, staining down her pale cheeks and your chest tightens at the sight pulling the oxygen from your lungs. She's there, fighting the wickedly mad stranger for control, but she's losing; succumbing to her own sorrow and guilt and to her own martyring noble perceptions.

"Please go," she begs, the blank shells of her irises filling in with so much emotion, "I will not allow my hand to cause you pain any longer, but I cannot control this darkness, darling, However it escaped, it is eating me alive and I can't-I refuse to allow it to destroy you too."

The cool metal against your skin has now vanished and you feel the stinging, salty tears flood from your eyes as they follow the path of the pistol to rest against her own temple. Her raven colored hair has been pulled back, messily, and stray locks whip around in the soft breeze making the gun look as if it is crackling with black electricity.

You can't breathe in this moment, your feet seem to be frozen to the leaf little below you, and all blood seems to have halted in your veins. This image this dark, horrendous image has permanently branded itself into your eidetic memory. You can feel it, it's smoldering flames flickering just under the effervescent, smiling photo of her that you hold so close to the forefront and threatening to burn it all away.

Her sobs break through your thoughts. You have never heard her cry like this, like life with you is all she wants, but the madness that has grown within her for so long has turned into an escaped, violent monster that needs to be put down. Her red rimmed eyes meet yours, and a sudden rush of hesitant relief flows over you, the stranger has disappeared from view, it's remnants shifting like ghosts sinking down into the depths of her soul. She's there full and whole, the woman you love beyond life itself; the woman who would take her own life just to protect yours from her own wrath.

The rattling of the ring on her finger against the metal of the gun appears to you as a call to action, above the sobs that echo throughout the trees. Your feet find motion and within a moment you have closed the distance between the two of you and are in front of her, completely invading any sense of personal space.

One of your hands has gripped her jacket covered bicep so tightly she is probably losing circulation and the other is purchased just as tightly around her fingers that are gripping the stock of her death sentence. You can feel her hot, shaky breath against your lips; her weeps only grow as you hold both of you steady, forehead pressed against hers.

Her eyes are shut as you look at her unwaveringly; her entire demeanor screams that she still truly believes that she needs to do this. That the stranger will resurface at any moment and cause eternal chaos in its wake.

"The rest of my life would be nothing _but_ pain if you did this." the words are so soft in volume, but laced with everything you're feeling.

She chokes out a gasp, and her eyes clench even tighter. You can feel her hand shaking underneath your own; the barrel still cocked, loaded, and pressed against her temple with her finger still fluttering over the trigger, like a hummingbird hovering over a flower preparing to collect its nectar. Moments pass in almost silence before you break it, "Look at me." It is nothing short of an order and reluctantly she obeys.

Sorrow and guilt stricken dark eyes emerge before you. Shock and surprise quickly replace those emotions though and you know she has recognized the emotions within your own emerald irises. Love and compassion are all she sees spread across your features and within you because despite everything you have been through, despite the events of the past minutes, your love for her has never faltered.

Slowly, you move the pistol away from her, her hand still interlocked between your own fingers. You use your thumb to flick the safety back on and then open her deft, elegant fingers to allow the murderous device to fall to the ground. One more tear escapes you and follows the feminine curve of your cheekbone when the heavy thud of the gun hits the dirt.

You pull her into your embrace; she is still for a moment before wrapping her arms around your back, fisting at the material of your blouse, and collapsing into you.

You release a deep, shaky breath and bring a hand up to settle and intertwine itself into her silky hair. The stranger is gone, for now at least, but you know that its influence has broken the walls she has built to preserve her sanity. You know the guilt of her actions will haunt her, but you also know that you won't let it harm her anymore.

You stand there for several minutes until her sobs have silenced, but still you don't let go. Her love for you is just as strong as yours is for her and you need her to know that. So, you strengthen your arms around her, pulling her flush against you until your heartbeats are thumping through both of your bodies in synchronicity.

In this moment you make a vow to yourself, a vow to never let this shadow torture her any longer, to help her, as much as she will have you, through this madness that still lingers, and to never let that dark passenger take control of her again.


End file.
